3

Dean pulled out the chair across from where Sammy was diligently taking notes from an old, leather bound book. He knew he hadn't gotten enough sleep to be up playing detective but such was his life. He sighed and looked around him at the many people surfing the internet or reading studiously at various tables.

"Sammy," he whispered. "I don't see how this is going to help."

Sam looked up at his brother and his pen paused over the paper. "We don't have any other leads to follow."

"I know that," Dean told him. "But I don't see how guessing at the killer in a bunch of old books is going to help us."

Sam glared at him. "It's better than what we've got, which is nothing."

Dean leaned back and held up his hands in a defeated pose. Sam went back to scribbling notes on possible suspects for the killings while Dean stood up and stretched. Sam was right again and he knew it. He was beginning to get frustrated with this job, with the overwhelming lack of information. Another person could die anytime now and all they had was conjecture.

He went to the desk where a middle aged woman was sitting at a computer, entering new arrivals into the computer. She looked up when he approached and put on her best helpful smile, which he took to really say "Why the hell are you interrupting me?".

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said in his best good boy voice. "I was just wondering if you could tell me if any other weird stuff has happened around here, other than the murders everyone has been talking about. See, my brother and I were looking for a place to settle our father in, but with all this . . . .," he trailed off, letting the implication hang.

She shifted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and her face instantly became more open and willing to talk. When everything else failed, Dean knew he could always count on his charm and small town hospitality.

"Those murders," she murmured. "How awful . . . .But no, nothing else strange has happened in our little town. We lost one of our own to those nightmarish killings."

"One of your own?" Dean echoed, leaning against the desk.

"Young girl by the name of Elizabeth Elson. She worked here during the summers most all her adolescent life. The girl loved books more than she could tolerate people. The only other person besides her parents that I ever saw her keep company with was her cousin."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Her cousin?"

The librarian nodded. "Pretty blonde girl. She came into town a few days ago to attend the funeral and never left. She's sitting right over there," the woman pointed her finger upstairs to a table nearly hidden by the banister railing.

Dean turned to follow the direction and found himself looking at the girl from the bar. Her head was bent low over a book and her face covered by a curtain of blonde curly locks. As he watched she picked up her cell phone and a confused expression came over her face quickly followed by one of surprise and concern. Dean could tell that whoever the caller was it was a phone call she hadn't been expecting. He thanked the librarian and went back to his table to get Sam.

Kya was getting nowhere. She had followed up on any possible leads and came up empty handed. Her research into possible suspects had come up equally fruitless. She was about ready to pack it in and go back to her motel room when her cell phone buzzed on the table. She had set it on vibrate and now it moved an inch to the right with the vibrations. She reached out a hand and flipped it open without bothering to check the Caller ID.

"Hello?" she asked quietly.

"Ms. Winters," a male voice said. "If you want answers concerning your cousin I suggest you meet me at the bridge."

Kya sat up straight. "Who is this?"

"That's not important right now. The bridge. Half an hour."

The caller hung up leaving her to sit and stare at her phone in concern. She knew the bridge the caller had been talking about; she had been there the other night lost in contemplation. It occurred to her that she could be walking into a trap but she couldn't figure out who would lay one out for her. Even if it was a trap she couldn't pass by the chance for answers of any kind.

She gathered up her things in the worn black leather satchel she wore over her shoulder and hurried down the stairs to her bike outside.

Dean pulled the Impala onto the gravel at a distance that wouldn't warrant overdue attention from the two people they were spying on. Beside him Sam leaned back and stared out the window.

"Why are we following the bar girl, Dean?"

"I don't know. I can't shake this feeling that she's involved in this."

"Or you can't shake the fact that you want her number."

Dean smiled and didn't deny the accusation. He knew that his gut was right but he had to prove it to his ever logical brother before Sam would give him credit where it was due. The fact that the blonde was a total hottie didn't help Dean's case at all. He knew the line of thinking that Sam was following.

"We can't even hear what they're saying," Sam objected.

"I know that. But I can read expressions as well as the next person and when they're done I'm going to go talk to her."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just get her number so we can get back to work."

Dean sighed and didn't reply.

Kya stood near the bridge at the bank of the river and wrapped her arms tight around her middle to ward off a sudden chill. The wind was strong today and seemed to diminish the sun's warmth as it beamed down. Her hair whipped across her face and she suddenly wished she had worn a jacket.

"I'm glad you came," a voice said, causing Kya to jump.

She turned around and met the speaker, an older man in what looked like his fifties. He was tall and broad as though he had been farming most of his life and his face was sun worn and creased with his age. His eyes, deep set into his face, studied her intently with dark brown orbs that bordered on black. His hair was a shock of silver that indicated his age more than anything else.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"I was a family friend of your Aunt and Uncle. Little Elizabeth grew up on the farm next to ours. She would come over nearly everyday to ride our horses," the man said, his eyes misty with the memory.

Kya swallowed. Her instincts were on edge, sharper than ever, as she studied the man and his every movement. "That still doesn't tell me who you are."

The man offered his hand to her. "Jeremiah Dawkins."

She took the hand warily and dropped her own back to her side. "You said you knew something about Lizzie's death. Tell me what you know."

"Impatient young people," he muttered. "Your cousin got caught up in something deeper than she realized with that love of books that she had. And if you follow the same course then you'll soon join her on the other side."

Kya smiled at the mention of her cousin's love for books for she remembered that well but her smile quickly faded at Jeremiah's dire warning. Her eyes narrowed and she clutched at the black satchel she wore around her shoulder.

"Tell me what you mean, please," she said sharply. "I don't have time for games."

Jeremiah sighed deeply and stared out over the water as if it would show him a doorway into a distant past. "When I was a kid, barely nineteen, a bunch of murders happened around here. Nobody talks about it no more, they were horrible. The police, they arrested a man by the name of Colton Banks. He was charged with the murders but most of the folk around here was pretty sure of his innocence. We were all convinced that it had been his brother, Jason. But there was no proof and the police had to quiet the townspeople before they got too riled up over the killings. So they charged Colton and had him put to death."

Kya stared at him. "That sounds horrible but I don't see what it has to do with Lizzie."

"Some say that Colton practiced magic. That he had a hand dipped in the occult. Some even say that he sold his soul to the devil in exchange for success. You see, Colton was a writer. Seemingly overnight his books began to sell quickly and he became famous for his writin. His brother, on the other hand, was a convicted criminal. Before he moved here he had been charged with assault, robbery, and probably a hundred other things that I don't even want to guess at. Before he died, Colton swore revenge on the people that had abandoned him. I'm guessing that would be the whole damn town. We all let him die."

Kya shook her head and brushed her hair back with her hand. "So you think it's a ghost?"

"By golly no, missy. Colton was working on a piece of horror fiction when he was convicted. I heard tell that the guards in the prison heard him chanting over the book late at night. After his death the guards had the book made into one copy and put it up on display at the local museum. I guess to some people Colton Banks became our own little local horror story, but eventually that died down. The book sat there for some time, until just recently I believe it went missing. If all the talk is true, I think that book has something to do with all of these deaths."

Kya's brow furrowed. "A book? What harm could a book do?"

"I don't know. It's the only clue I've got to tell you. I figured if anybody could solve this, it would be you."

"Why me? Why are you coming to me with all of this?"

Jeremiah sighed and his eyes got misty again. "Elizabeth, she looked up to you. She used to say that you could do anything. She said you were special. When I saw you at the funeral I could see that she was right. It wasn't just hero-worship talk from an envious girl. I can't put my finger on it but there's something about you, Kya, that tells me you were the one to come to. 'Sides, the police would just call me an old nut."

Kya laughed. "Most likely."

Jeremiah eyed her. "Be careful, girl. Too many people have died already. No matter what's behind it, just be careful."

She nodded and shook his hand again before grabbing up her helmet. "I'll figure it out."

Jeremiah watched her slide onto the sleek black motorcycle and crank it up. As she rode off and out of sight he watched the black car pull off and follow her at a safe distance. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.